


the soul's fair emblem

by havisham



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Childhood Trauma, Crueltide, F/F, F/M, Female Anti-Hero, Misses Clause Challenge, Murderwives, Obsession, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucille meets her match in Edith, as well as her doom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the soul's fair emblem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zlot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zlot/gifts).



> Hey, zlot! Hope you like this, writing it was a wild ride from start to finish. Hopefully reading is the same. Cheers, and happy Yuletidemas!

_The butterfly the ancient Grecians made_   
_The soul's fair emblem, and its only name –_   
_But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade_   
_Of mortal life! – For in this earthly frame_   
_Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame,_   
_Manifold motions making little speed,_   
_And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed._

**\- Samuel Taylor Coleridge**

 

Rain hit hard against the windowpane of the schoolroom, and Miss Gibbon’s voice, already tremulous and halting, trailed off entirely. Thomas, who had been half-dozing at his desk, lifted his head and looked at her. Lucille put her pen back into its inkwell, not to spot her letter. They were all listening, intensely, to the shouting that went downstairs. The voices sounded distant, hardly discernible over the moaning wind and lash of rainfall. 

Suddenly, however, there was a scream, high and piercing. Mother’s scream, followed by a thunderous crash. Thomas was out of his seat in an instant, but Lucille’s legs were longer, and she outpaced him and shoved him, quite roughly, into Miss Gibbon’s arms. 

“You will stay here,” Lucille said fiercely, “and not move from this spot until I come and fetch you myself. Do you understand me?” 

Thomas looked at her, his eyes enormous. His lips trembling, he looked like he was at the cusp of tears, but managed to hold them in, and nodded. 

Lucille rewarded him with a small, grim smile, and turned to leave the schoolroom. 

“Ah, Lucille,” Miss Gibbons said, just as Lucille was to close the door behind her. “Perhaps you should stay -- it would not be proper for a young girl such as yourself --” 

“Miss Gibbons, you will have to excuse me,” Lucille said coolly, “I must see to the state of my mother. If you would be so kind as to look after Thomas, I would be very grateful. I will send Sally up with supper shortly.” 

Outside the schoolroom, the house was darkened, no hint of lamp or candle anywhere. But Lucille knew every step and made her way quite quickly to the stairs. When she looked down, she saw an oil-lamp burning below. Her mother was holding it, and she was looking up, her eyes gazing blindly into the dark. Below her, Lucille could barely discern a large, crumpled shape at the foot of the stairs, in a pool of blood. 

She went down quickly after that, almost flying down, past her mother -- who did not turn her head to look at her, staring as she was at invisible shapes above her -- down to the bottom of the stairs, where her father’s body lay. In life, he had cut an elegant figure, but now he seemed like a puppet that had had his strings cut. 

Lucille crouched down and felt for a pulse, but she knew he was dead. His eyes were open and had the look of a fish’s, wide and incredulous. There was a small pool of blood around his head, and, more out curiousity than anything else, Lucille dipped her finger into it. 

In the winter months, Allerdale Hall was called Crimson Peak, because the red earth bled through the white snow, but Lucille found now that blood was nothing like earth, or even mud. It was simply blood, and it was her father's. 

Overhead, Lucille heard a sharp, cut-off cry. She looked up, to see Thomas looking down at her from above. 

Their mother was nowhere to be seen. 

*

After her father’s death (which was, naturally, ruled to be an accident -- Sir John was notorious drunk, and his wife was surely too weak and gentle to have killed him, even if gravity had done most of the work) -- things returned to normal, or, rather, things began to change until they fit into a old-new pattern, familiar and yet, not. Mother took increasingly to her bed, until at last, she was not able to leave it. 

Lucille took on the task of caring for her, and also saw to the running of the household, which shrunk accordingly. (There was, of course, no money to be had, except some slim savings, given for Thomas’ education.) Miss Gibbons was dismissed, with a lukewarm reference written by Lucille and signed, in a wavering script, by her mother. Thomas was sent off to school, over his strenuous protests. 

In the end, it was only Lucille and her mother, in the quiet, quiet house. 

Nothing was there, besides them and the ghosts, of course. 

*

Her mother! How much attention she demanded; every minute of every waking hour she called to Lucille. Bring her this, take her this, _Lucille, Lucille_ , come here, get out. Look at me, read to me, bathe me, clean my shit, wipe my mouth. Serve me, because there was no one else. She would not let anyone else do the things Lucille did. It went on, for years and years. 

Lucille fantasized about giving Mother too much of her medicine one day, or going for a walk and losing her on moors. Or, when she used the axe that was meant to kill chickens, she imagined knocking a hole in Mother’s head. 

But she didn't quite dare it, not yet. 

The catalyst came when Thomas returned to them. He had been thrown out of his school for being -- in the words of his headmaster, _a danger to the other boys -- a sickness_ \-- he had wept when he told her and she -- oh, she had kissed him, to comfort him, to show that she understood -- when she heard a gasp at the door. Mother was out of bed and staring at them as if they were monsters. 

She had screamed that it was so and had run, but she was weak and old while they were young and strong; they caught her easily enough. It was Lucille who had suggested putting her in the bathtub, forcing down the medicine down her throat, so she would be calm and compliant. She paced around the bathroom, as she waited for Thomas to came back with -- something -- to finish the job. 

He brought back the axe Lucille used to kill chickens. Lucille allowed herself a smile. It was meant to be. They did it together, delivering the killing blow. It seemed right, perfectly right. 

After all, Mother would not have been happy if she had lived. 

*

Her mother’s ring Lucille took off her mother’s clawed and bloody hand. She admired how much the ruby sparkled and shone on against her own hand. She had won it, after all. 

But the constables came and took Lucille away; the ring fell off her finger. 

Lucille cried out, feeling it as it fell. She wanted to stop and retrieve it, but the constable that was leading her away would not pause, even as she scratched his face bloody. 

“Lucille!” Thomas cried out and she turned to him. He held the ring up, so Lucille could see that it was safe. 

*

White frost covered the windows of Lucille’s room in the asylum. She looked out to the world through the distorted glass and saw the muted brown-green of the dead garden and the stone wall, separating her from the rest of the world. She was the youngest inmate there and at first, some of the other women had tried to make a pet of her -- seeing in her lost children, sisters, friends. 

But Lucille had not warmed to them, and soon enough the reasons for her being there came out, and most of them drifted away. Except one. Mary Ferrers had been there far longer than most of the staff. The rumor was that she had a great deal of money, and an impatient husband who has wished to rush her off into a early grave. But instead, her husband had died and she had remained. 

Mary called to her now, and Lucille turned away from the window and got her cloak. They had permission to walk through the asylum grounds -- the place was so remote that if they tried to escape, it was more likely that they would perish, dying from exposure than reaching civilization -- and besides, Mary was nearing seventy if she was a day, her white hair tied to the top of her head like a puff of dandelion seeds. She could not go far. Her eyes were failing her, and that was why she would take Lucille with her walks, in accordance to her doctor’s wishes. 

She taught Lucille about the importance of herbs and of their uses, ways of using them to bring life and take it. Two hundred years ago, Lucille supposed, Mary would have been burned as a witch. But now, she spent her days wandering the woods around the asylum, with Lucille trailing behind her with a big basket full of herbs and other cuttings. 

“What do you think you will do, once you leave this place?” Mary asked her, passing her the ivory-handled knife that they used for cutting, as they were tramping through the wet woods, with rain dripping down on them from the skeletal branches of trees.

“Will I leave?” Lucille replied back, tracing a line on her palm with the knife. “It seems like I will be here forever.” 

“Of course you will,” Mary said briskly. “I can see it.” 

“Oh,” Lucille said, “then I will go back to Allerdale, I suppose, and keep house for my brother.” 

“Exchange one prison for another?” 

Lucille gave Mary a look, and dropped the basket on the ground. She kept the knife, clutching at it. She did not mind the blood that began to well up from her closed fists. The basket had fallen into the mud and she picked it up and tossed the knife back into it, getting the handle stained with blood. She said coldly, “Mary, you presume too much. My brother would not --” 

Lucille shook her head sharply. “He would _not_.” 

“You are very young. What will happen when your brother marries?” 

Thomas, married? 

To Lucille, that had been only a distant possibility, and only because other men could marry. But -- “I would take certain steps.” 

Mary smiled. It was a rather sinister smile. “I have no doubt.” 

*

Mary taught her many things. If she was a witch, then Lucille was surely her apprentice. 

*

It was so cold there, so, so cold. Lucille woke with a jangle of nerves, she could hardly breathe, her throat ached so. She tossed and turned, until she found herself being carried away, and then she began to scream. 

She was placed in a quarantine, they said. The sickness had spread throughout the asylum, from somewhat-sunny upper rooms where genteel ladies, long past their usefulness, sat and drank tea and waited for death, and down to the Pit, which was Hell. Lucille knew. She had gone in the Pit first, before Mary had fished her out and taken her under her wing. 

But where was Mary now? Lucille looked at the other blank, white faces around her and she did not see her. When she asked for her, the faces turned away, pity and revulsion on their expressions. _Mad girl. She speaks to the air, wanders in the woods._

 _Where did she get that knife?_

There was no one by that name, by that description, there never had been. 

*

Lucille drank down one of Mary’s potions, but found it ineffective. She thought, before she slid into unconsciousness, that she would be able to improve the formula. Then, she fell deeper and deeper until she was brought up short by the realization that -- 

She was Death.

It was so clear now, she was Death and that was why Mother had turned away, she had seen it in her and could not bear it. She was Death and soon she would be released from her prison, and the world would feel it. 

 

*

Thomas was good to his word. Newly turned twenty-one, in possession of both adulthood (fully fledged) and his inheritance (pathetically small), he had come for her, and she had gone to him. Her keepers were at first reluctant to let her go, though Lucille was a model patient and had been for many years. She was especially good at nursing the older women and reading to them sermons in a quiet, mellow little voice, her ivory-pale face looking like it was cut from a cameo. 

The young clergyman at the asylum -- with a set of golden ringlets on the top of his head, a wholesome, cherubic sort of person -- was rumored to be very much in love with her. Though she noted it, she did not see fit to pursue it. After all, she had no intention of being a clergyman’s wife, even if his family would accept a formerly-mad wife for their son. 

But Thomas placed Mother’s ring back on Lucille’s finger. She looked down at it and smiled, and it seemed to wink back her within its ruby depths. 

*

As for Thomas’ wives -- she did not pity them. They were fools, and saw what they wished to see. It wasn’t as if her brother was a great actor -- or, she thought, with a twinge of regret, a very great lover -- but it was no matter. Thomas’ machine must be built, Allerdale Hall must be kept up. 

Besides, whatever he was, Thomas was hers, not theirs, never theirs. 

Lucille knew her rights. 

She did not pity them, though sometimes she felt -- 

She did envy them, a little. They were so happy in their little time, before the truth caught up with them. _Poor little fools, they're ghosts already. _Thomas’ machine fed on them, just as the house fed on her and Thomas.__

__

__*_ _

__The little one she did pity._ _

__How she wished that he had lived. At first, and from the outside, he looked very much like any other baby, healthy, even. He reminded her of Thomas, when he had been born. The same bright eyes, the same vague, quizzical look on his face. But then he did not thrive, in fact, he quickly sickened and refused to grow. Was it the house and its malignant air, poisoning him? Or was it his -- their -- tainted blood?_ _

__The Italian girl, Enola, said she could save him. But she lied, oh, she lied and Lucille did not spare her. Her little changeling died on the same day that Enola did, and sank into the same vat of mud._ _

__Lucille could still hear him, at night, and crying. She could always hear him, though she played loud enough to drown him out._ _

__*_ _

__“I have never had a sister,” Edith said, clasping Lucille’s hand. They were walking slowly down the ferny path in the conservatory, the air around them humid and not a little hot. There was enough pollen in the air to make Edith sneeze, which she did in quick succession, like little mouse squeaks. Lucille pulled out a handkerchief from her reticule and handed to Edith, who gave her a congested-sounding thanks._ _

__“As I was saying -- Lucille -- oh, I suppose it would be too presumptuous to call you Lucy -- does Thomas call you that?” Edith sneezed again, and blew her nose on Lucille’s handkerchief._ _

__“I have never been a Lucy to anyone,” Lucille confessed, allowing herself a rather stiff smile._ _

__Edith smiled back shyly. “I am afraid, I'm not -- I'm not very good with getting along with other girls. As I've said, I had no sisters and my mother died when I was young.”_ _

__“So did mine,” Lucille said, twisting the ring on her hand. On impulse, she took Edith’s hand and raised it to her mouth. “But I know what it is to be a sister. I would be yours, Edith, if you would only say the word.”_ _

__She kissed Edith’s hand with a flourish, and Edith blushed a deep pink._ _

__“Why, yes,” Edith said, faintly, “thank you. I would like that very much.”_ _

__*_ _

__Later, Lucille lifted another butterfly from Edith’s hair -- this one made of lace and tulle-- and kissed her, as a friend might. Edith gave a little gasp and clutched at the front of Lucille’s dress, crumpling it. Lucille made a little noise of irritation and Edith stared at her, her mouth a little agape. They had been dressing for dinner -- Lucille had, by dint of charm and more than a little persistence, finagled an invitation to stay a week in Edith’s home, while Thomas did his work on Edith’s father._ _

__It was hardly a fair trade -- Edith’s father was a harder case than she -- but Lucille thought that Thomas’ work with Edith was mostly complete. It was her turn now to charm Edith, to make Edith love her._ _

__“You are so sweet,” Lucille said, and felt triumph as Edith looked at her, considering. This was not how she looked at Thomas, as she could hardly believe he could exist. Suddenly, Lucille felt something she had never done before -- envy for Thomas. He was not the only one who could -- he was not the only one who could beguile and charm. But then Edith put a tentative hand on her neck, sliding a cool finger down the line of Lucille’s throat and all of Lucille’s furious thoughts went still._ _

__“I have read about this,” Edith said, an analytic gleam in her eye. “I have often wondered… the mechanics of it.”_ _

__“I confess, I am neither an expert nor wholly an innocent,” Lucille said demurely, and allowed Edith to kiss her in turn._ _

__*_ _

__Lucille learned the news of Edith’s father’s death, taking the late train back to Buffalo after she received Thomas’ telegraph. She was shaking in Thomas’ arms, her eyes tearless, only -- shaking. Lucille knew she was a poor comfort, and so let Thomas do the coddling. Instead, she drifted to the window and looked out. The sky was a sullen, heavy grey, though it did not rain._ _

__“Do the police have any idea what happened?” Lucille asked._ _

__Thomas began to speak, but it was Edith who said, “No. The attendant saw nothing -- oh, my poor Father! If you could have seen him, Lucille…No, I am glad you did not see. I do not think I would forget it as long as I live.”_ _

__“You must put it out of your mind entirely,” Lucille said, turning to look at Edith for the first time. “Remember your father when he was alive and well; let that be your image of him.”_ _

__“My dear, you needn't worry anymore,” Thomas said, placing a kiss on the top of Edith’s head. “We are your family now.”_ _

__*_ _

__“Thomas,” Lucille said, when they were still twenty miles away from Allerdale Hall. “Tell your bride something about our home and family.” She and Edith were seated together, both facing Thomas._ _

__Her slim black booted feet nudged slightly against his._ _

__Thomas smiled. “Which something would that be, sister dear? You are the family historian.”_ _

__“And you, the family genius,” Lucille said._ _

__“Only a mechanical one.”_ _

__“All right. If you wish, I shall tell her something.”_ _

__“Please do,” Edith said, with a nod. “I would volunteer myself to be the family writer, but I'm afraid that might be too presumptuous.”_ _

__“Not at all -- we all need stories, after all. We Sharpes have always been a rather fast-moving family. The first Thomas Sharpe was granted his baronetcy by King James I, in exchange for a thousand and ninety-five pounds. He gained Allerdale Hall in a similar fashion -- the old family that built went extinct shortly before Sir Thomas took possession. The ground was said to be cursed from that day on -- a fanciful notion, for the the clay mine was quite profitable, up until our great-grandfather’s time. But I am boring you; when you see the house, you will understand.”_ _

__Lucille folded her hands neatly into her lap and lapsed into silence._ _

__“You neglect the first Sir Thomas’ more salacious antecedents, Lucille,” Thomas said. “Hidden pirate treasure, bigamous marriages, heretical views on the church, and an odd murder or two.”_ _

__“Treasure, really?” Edith said, leaning forward._ _

__“Oh, yes. When we were quite small, Lucille and I would go and look for it -- we could never find anything, of course, and if he had had any money hidden in the mine, we would never reach it. Besides, the earth has no doubt swallowed it up. Lucille, do you remember?”_ _

__“Of course I do, Thomas. Mother was so angry when she saw us coming back --” Lucille glanced at Edith’s direction and saw that she was fidgeting with the lace on her cuff. Lucille laid her hand over Edith’s for a moment._ _

__Edith stilled, looking at her._ _

__Thomas mused. “It was worse for you. She thought you had led me astray.”_ _

__“So I had,” Lucille said, relinquishing her hold on Edith’s hand at last. She looked to Thomas and sighed. “Anyway, enough of that! We are boring Edith with our talk. Those were only rumors, you know, spread about him by his enemies. I don’t want to give you a worse impression of our grandsire than even he deserved.”_ _

__“I’m not bored at all! And I find that things that are quite horrid now can seem astonishing, fascinating, romantic, even, after several centuries,” Edith said._ _

__“Americans do have a tendency to find such things romantic,” Lucille said with a small sigh. “But still, I suppose it is good material for your ghost stories, Edith. Once you are settled, we will look through the archive, you and I, and find what there is to find out about the terrible Sir Thomas.”_ _

__Turning, Edith graced her with a smile, one of the first she had had since her father had died._ _

__*_ _

__Edith loved Allerdale Hall. Much like the story that Lucille had told her in the carriage, Edith found Allerdale Hall to be astonishing, fascinating, and romantic, even. She took everything in stride, from the gaping hole in the roof of the Great Hall (which had always been in a delicate state, but it was in the reign of Lucille’s father that the large hole appeared. Every year after that, the hole grew slightly larger.)_ _

__Edith was also undisturbed by the floor, leaking bright-red clay on to the boards._ _

__She always had so many questions, so eager to explore -- Lucille watched her with a mixture of slight amusement and a great deal of caution. Edith, though naive and a little dreamy, was no fool. She would know their secrets, soon enough._ _

__

__*_ _

__The tea, perfected as it was through various trials, was the best it could be. It was not strictly poisonous -- at least, not at once. It took many applications to take root. Lucille privately thought that if she could somehow be able to sell it -- a way to rid oneself of burdensome relations or noisy neighbors -- she would certainly have made more money than any of Thomas’ unfortunate wives had brought them._ _

__But for Edith… It would not do to have her die so quickly, Lucille decided. Why? She frowned. It was not because -- well, perhaps it was as simple as her wanting more company than Thomas, and his obsession with the machine, would allow._ _

__Lucille deserved to have her own distractions as well._ _

__So, that was decided. She began to change of the composition of the tea, without telling Thomas._ _

__*_ _

__Edith began to have nightmares almost immediately. Lucille would lie in bed and listen to her moans and whimpers, as Thomas worked away in his workshop. At breakfast, she would push a bowl of porridge into Edith’s hands, and, of course, a cup of tea._ _

__“I wish -- I wish there was something to help me sleep,” Edith said, at last, after she spent some time poking at her porridge._ _

__“I could make you another cup of tea before you sleep,” Lucille said._ _

__“No.” Edith looked at her, an unreadable expression on her face. “I think I have had enough of tea, for now.”_ _

__“You need something else, then.”_ _

__“Yes, something else.”_ _

__*_ _

__That night, Lucille laid out a wide length of silk ribbon along with Edith’s nightgown. At Edith’s questioning look, she said, with much feigned indifference, that she had read that sleeping in a blindfold led to more restful nights. Edith looked a little doubtful, but accepted the ribbon anyway._ _

__Lucille waited. Impatiently, perhaps, but she felt that time grew short. Her tea would eventually do its final work and she found that -- she did not regret it, exactly -- Thomas needed the rest of the fortune and Edith would certainly have to die…_ _

__However -- Lucille’s tread was soft as she made her way to Edith’s room again. The door opened easily enough and she crept in. Edith, her hearing must have been like a bat’s, turned sharply to the empty side of the bed. She wore the blindfold, a black slash against the paleness of her hair._ _

__“Thomas?” Edith said, uncertainly._ _

__“No,” Lucille said. “May I come in?”_ _

__Edith waited a long moment before she whispered, _yes._ _ _

__*_ _

__Later, as Edith bucked and gasped her way to completion, Lucille could not help but hide her smirk behind the waves of Edith’s hair. “Oh, Psyche,” she whispered into Edith’s ear and Edith began shiver in her arms. “How much I have to show you. I could make you a goddess among mortals.”_ _

__“Could you,” Edith said, her voice low and drowsy. Lucille nodded, and after Edith had time to rest a little more, she used her tongue and fingers to make her come again._ _

__Edith muttered something that was quite coarse._ _

__Lucille wiped her mouth and told her so._ _

__*_ _

__Lucille sought Thomas out, after he and Edith returned from the post-office. She found him, of course, curled up in his oldest hiding spot, in their nursery room. She stopped short of it, crouched down and called his name. “Come out, Thomas. We must talk.”_ _

__After the longest moment, he did come out, looking vaguely sheepish. He sat on the floor and so did she. Tenderly, she caressed the side of his face, watching as guilt, uncertainty and lust flitted over his face._ _

__In a low, gentle voice, the one she only used for him, Lucille said, “You know you cannot keep her alive, Thomas. Why did you give her hope?”_ _

__He shifted away from her with grunt of disatisfaction. “Why,” he said, “why is it impossible?”_ _

__“Because.” Lucille said, her smile fixed into grimace. “Because you cannot have both her and I -- you cannot have that, Thomas. Do you think I enjoyed it, watching you make love to all those women? But I did it, because I knew that when it came time, you would do what needed to be done. I could depend on you. But now you say you love Edith. You wish to keep Edith. Why? How can I trust you, ever again?”_ _

__“Lucille, you are overwrought, let me explain…”_ _

__“Let me speak!” Lucille growled. “I am not -- I do not hate Edith. You know, I am fond of her, in my way. But we have set into motion some things that cannot be changed. If Edith lives, then you and I will always be in danger. Are you sure of her? Do you think her love for you will overcome her horror of what you have done? How can you be sure?”_ _

__

__Lucille stopped and took a breath, then two. She realized suddenly that it was not that she did not want Thomas to have them both, but that she could not bear to have them both. It would either be Thomas, or Edith. It had to be._ _

__She sighed, said nothing more. Thomas was looking at her as if he could not recognize her. Lucille rose, carefully, her every movement controlled._ _

__“You know I have done everything for your sake,” Lucille said, trying for calm. “I thought you and I -- I thought we were the same. But you have betrayed me, Thomas.”_ _

__“I haven’t!” Thomas rose, so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Lucille, I have thought long about it. We could live together, it would not be such a hardship, would it? We do it now.”_ _

__Lucille nearly laughed in disbelief. “You have heard nothing of what I said.”_ _

__Thomas only gave her a puzzled, wounded look. He comprehended nothing, it seemed._ _

__She left the room._ _

__Lucille was not many paces from the nursery door when she remembered that she had left the lantern there. She went and fetched it back again, finding the room empty in the meanwhile. Once she was in the hallway again, she turned and was confronted with the sight of Edith, her hair disheveled and her nightclothes soaked with sweat. She trembled as she looked at Lucille, but she did not seem afraid._ _

__She stared at Lucille, her eyes dark and deep._ _

__“Edith,” Lucille said, after a moment. “What are you doing out of bed?”_ _

__“You are --” Edith licked her lips, she seemed to have some difficulty getting the words out. “You are a murderess.”_ _

__“Why, yes,” Lucille said, “I am. And your beloved Thomas is a murderer, many times over.”_ _

__Edith shuddered._ _

__Lucille took a step closer to her. “He is also one of the most selfish men alive.”_ _

__“You --” Edith breathed out. “You can have him. I am leaving.”_ _

__Lucille did laugh now. She laughed until there was tears running down her cheeks. Shaking her head, she said, “Oh, Edith. Come, you should be in bed.”_ _

__She took Edith by her arm and led her back to bed and made her comfortable. She brought up another cup of tea and slowly poured it down her throat. Almost humming, she murmured, “You will not remember any of this.”_ _

__Edith seemed come back to herself for a moment, though she still looked like a ghost, pale and strange. She stared at Lucille and quickly grabbed the cup of tea from her hand. Before Lucille could stop her, Edith hurled the cup against the wall. It cracked like an egg, and tea dribbled down the wall._ _

__Edith and Lucille looked at each other, neither saying another word._ _

__*_ _

__She left Thomas’ body upstairs, after she arranged it as well as she could. Edith was next, but she was different than the others, she _fought_ , tooth and claw, until they were at a standstill. Lucille was losing, bleeding and she was -- surprised, to see a gaping hole in her chest. A sense of satisfaction burned in her stomach. “Finish it,” she hissed. _ _

__Edith still held out her knife. She shook her head. “Not yet.”_ _

__

__*_ _

__What kind of monster she had made! They fled from Allerdale, after the authorities came and took away Thomas’ and Alan’s bodies (poor Alan, bled to death in the cellar -- Lucille knew Edith hated her for _that_ , as much as anything else) and some did not believe the story that Thomas had gone mad and tried to kill them all. _ _

__They quit England, for good. Lucille knew that Edith would someday have her revenge -- and she looked forward to it. Away from Allerdale, away for good, she found that she could accept the end that would come. It was new, and strange, fated and deadly. She slipped the ring -- the one she had taken back, when Edith was dying -- and on to Edith’s finger one day. Edith dragged her ringed finger across Lucille’s cheek, leaving a scratch there that began to bleed._ _

__Oh, it was perfect._ _

__Lucille closed her eyes, in ecstasy. _Perfect.__ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas, Elleth and Sath!


End file.
